


Not Like Me.

by DeadOnHerFeet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anorexia, Brotp, Confused Sherlock, Eating Disorders, Friendship, Gen, John has an eating disorder, Mental Health Issues, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock doesn't understand people, Worried Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadOnHerFeet/pseuds/DeadOnHerFeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being around Sherlock Holmes is hard work. He's impossibly intelligent, tall and slim, and at the centre of everyone's attention. Not to mention his tendency to insult the people around him. A few unintended cruel words can go a long way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is the first fic I've ever written. I'm quite excited about it, I've been meaning to do something like this for a while. I hope you enjoy it, and I'm really sorry for any spelling/Grammar mistakes, I've tried to keep the bad spelling to a minimum. Twigger warning for Eating Disorders. I hope you enjoy it.

Sherlock's P.O.V  
It has been exactly three days and eight hours since I last saw John eat, and that was with me at breakfast, he had a slice of toast with a thin layer of jam and a cup of coffee, black. We then got called in by Lestrade on a case about a dead female found with her throat slit in her home and her ring finger cut off. Lived alone, no sign of forced entry. It was the sister, she was having an affair with her fiancé. Case closed yesterday. 

I don't eat while I'm working, digestion slows me down. I suppose I should have noticed sooner than I did, but this case was quite intriguing, and because I do not need substance I didn't notice when John didn't stop for food or when he didn't complain about being hungry. 

But John isn't me, John is normal, he shouldn't go long stretches of time without food. 

Obviously I noted that John wasn't himself. He was moody and quiet and slower than usual. He yawned more, and was constantly rubbing his eyes and forehead, indicating a headache. I asked him if he were sleeping, he said that he was, I then asked him if he were hungry, he said that he wasn't.  
I noticed he was purposely avoiding food two days into the case.  
We were in the living room, I was playing my violin, John was updating his blog. Mrs Hudson came bustling in going on and on about how our neighbours were fighting and about the mess I had made of her walls and how it was unhygienic to keep human fingers in fridge. I told her repeatedly to shut up, but she didn't. She never does, instead she changed the subject to something just as dull.

'Have you boys eaten?'

'I don't eat while I'm working' I muttered, keeping my gaze fixed out of the window.  
'Yeah, I've eaten. Thanks Mrs Hudson.' John said, I turned to observe him, he was looking down at his laptop screen but I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Mrs Hudson then went on about how she wished I would eat more for about another two minuets before she finally left, I think she got the hint when I started to play my violin over her to drown her out. As soon as she had shut the door however, I stopped playing and propped my violin on my armchair.  
'Why did you lie?' I asked, and John looked up from the screen, wearing his best poker face.  
'I didn't' John lied again.  
'Yes, you did. You haven't eaten a thing all day, in fact-'  
That’s when I realized the last time he had eaten something was at breakfast before we got the case. 'You haven't eaten in two days' I said, somewhat quieter than I usually sounded. 'Why?' I found myself demanding, taking a few steps towards him to get a better look. He was pale and had dark bags under his eyes his fingers tinged with blue which showed bad circulation and were shaking slightly, which showed he was either cold or suffering from lack of energy, or both.  
John didn't answer my question. He just gave me a look of pure disbelief, as if I was missing something painfully obvious. I looked at him harder, I had noted everything of importance down, I wasn't missing anything, I couldn't be. 'What?' I asked him, feeling disgruntled. He just rolled his eyes at me and sighed. 'Just forget it okay Sherlock?'  
'Forget what?' I asked, I hated being confused, what could I have possibly missed?  
'Nothing. I'm going to bed.' John sighed, and with that he got up and walked out of the room, I noticed how he swayed a little as he went. 

 

* * *

 

When the case closed, I suggested we go to Angelo's, when John shrugged at my suggestion, I quickly added ‘or the Chinese place with the nice door handle.' I was rather hungry, and if I were hungry, John definitely was. But John just shrugged again and said 'I don't mind, I'm not that hungry, you chose.'  
We went to Angelo's, mainly because it was nearest and I knew that if the food were free then there would be more of a chance that John would order something.  
Angelo greeted us the same as he always did, and we took the table by the window, as always, and then he lit a candle for us to make it romantic, and then ignored John when he said 'We're not actually dating'. I wondered why it bothered him so much, John got so bothered by the words of others sometimes, and for what? What did it matter than Angelo thought I was his date? Or what his new girlfriend thought of the clothes he had picked to wear, or what Mrs Hudson thought of the various body parts in the fridge? It was ridiculous. 

John did order something, only if it was the Caesar salad. I watched him carefully over my own meal, he was pushing it around his plate, every so often he would take a small bite of lettuce, or an even smaller bite of chicken. This was absurd, he must be staving by now, it had been days. His hands were shaking and he was chewing down hard onto his bottom lip as he cut the chicken up into small slices.  
‘John, please eat it’ I said in a hushed voice, so only he could hear me, I had a unpleasant feeling settling in the bottom of my stomach, I wasn’t used to being nervous. ‘I am eating’ he said weakly, looking down at his plate and sighing.  
‘I would hardly class that as eating’ I said pointedly.  
‘I don’t see why you’re so concerned, Sherlock. You go for days on end without eating’ John said, picking up his glass of water with shaking hands and taking a sip. I noticed a tiny speck of blood on the glass where his lips had been. He had been biting them so hard they had bled. ‘You’re not like me’ I said, stating the obvious, and for some reason John looked somewhat hurt by this.  
‘As you've already pointed out.’ John muttered. He pushed his plate away from him then, he wasn't going to eat any more. 

We left soon after, John made sure to say thank you to Angelo (‘Any time boys! Any time!’) and we got a taxi home. It was Johns turn to pay the fee, but he had spend the whole cab ride with his eyes closed and his head leaning against the window, so when we got out I took care of it, the nervous feeling in my stomach growing as I noticed John sway beside me. ‘Are you alright?’ I turned to him, I knew he wasn't alright, but I made a point of asking, because asking is just something people tend to do. He looked up at me, rubbing his forehead vigorously. ‘Yeah, I'm okay, just a bit travel sick’ he said, and he tried to smile. As we walked up the stairs to our flat, I made sure I was directly behind him, so if he were to collapse, which was very likely, he wouldn't fall too far. When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused and his legs shook. ‘John…’ I began, but he cut me off. ‘I'm fine’ he snapped, and then opened the door and walked into the living room with his arms clenched to his sides, an obvious attempt to stop himself shaking. ‘John you need to eat something, your body is suffering from lack of nutrients’ I snapped back, I was quite frustrated actually because I didn't understand why he was denying himself food. He was obviously hungry, no, he was past hungry now, he was staving, so why was he not eating?  
‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked. John laughed a short, harsh laugh, I noticed him gripping onto the back of the armchair tightly. ‘Oh as if you don’t know’ he said in a lofty voice. I got more frustrated, John was acting as if everything was so obvious, what was it? What on earth could I be missing? It was as if he had told me directly-  
Oh. Oh it had been so obvious. So painfully obvious. How could I have missed it? I looked over John, and the longer I looked the more obvious it became.  
‘John I-’  
John hit the floor before I could even start.


	2. Planting the Seed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes drastic action after a few unintended harsh words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! thank you so much for the positive feedback from the first chapter! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I decided to tell this chapter from Johns point of view, I thought an inside look would be nice. It'll be back to Sherlock's point of view soon though. I like switching between them. Sorry it's a short chapter, I've been crazy busy at work. Trigger warning for eating disorders.

John’s P.O.V

When I was a kid I had been what my Mum called ‘a little chubby’. She told me it was nothing to worry about and that as I grew taller it would just go on its own. Harry on the other hand called it fat, and reminded me that I probably wasn't going to grow any taller. I did grow taller, if only a little bit, and Mum had been kind of right, most of it had just gone on its own. Basic training cleared the rest up for me. Honestly I had never been too concerned about it, I did try to eat healthier after a boy at school had called me ‘a porker’, but I never did anything drastic, so I don’t know why I suddenly cared so much. Sherlock just made me a bit self-conscious, and that’s something I've never really been before, I've always been a confident person. But when I'm around Sherlock, it’s different. I mean he’s taller and slimmer and so much more intelligent than I am, and it’s all a little bit intimidating really. What’s worse is he points out that he is taller/slimmer/more intelligent than I am, although I don’t think he always does that on purpose. I suppose that’s what started everything off. It was the morning before the case with the girl with the slit throat and missing finger. It was breakfast, and I was having toast with a little jam scraped on and some black coffee. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, hunched over in his dressing gown and using my laptop, complaining in a whiny voice about being bored. I wasn't paying him much attention, because I've learnt that when Sherlock’s in one of these moods, giving him attention always makes things worse. One slice of toast wasn't at all that filling, and I'm always hungrier in the morning, so I went back to the kitchen for another slice, or maybe some cereal or something, when Sherlock said it. I don’t think he said it to be mean, or well maybe he did, but he was bored and irritable and hadn't had a case in weeks so I normally just ignore everything that comes out of his mouth when he’s in a mood like this, because it’s never usually very nice.

‘Going back for seconds are we?’ he drawled, not taking his eyes off my laptop screen.  
‘I'm hungry’ I said, hesitating on my way past him, because I wondered if he was going to take this on further. He did.  
‘You’re always hungry, John.’  
I should have just ignored it, left it at that and gone to get my second slice of toast, but I didn't, I had to question him didn't I?  
‘What are you trying to say?’ I asked.  
Sherlock pulled his eye away from the screen and sat up, looking me up and down, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.  
‘Oh nothing, It's just sooner or later your metabolism is going to start to slow down, of course you would know that, you’re a doctor.’  
He wasn't done, so I stood there, pulling my dressing gown shut.  
‘It appears that it may have started to slow down already, I’d say you’re 3 and half pounds up this month. Got to start watching your hunger of yours.’  
I left straight after that because I was desperate to change into something other than my flimsy dressing gown and if he had anything else to say, I decided that I didn't want to hear it.

Once I was in my room, with the door shut and locked, I took my dressing gown off to give myself a harsh examination of what was underneath.

I looked softer than I had done when I was in the army, there was no doubt about that. My stomach muscles were less visible and my jaw line wasn't so sharp. Sherlock was right, I had put of some weight recently, I guess I was stupid for thinking no one would notice, even stupider for thinking that Sherlock wouldn't. I stared at myself for a little while longer. The longer I looked, that fatter I seemed to be getting. I put on one of my larger jumpers to try and hide the worst of it, but it didn't help much. I didn't know who I was trying to fool. Sherlock already knew how much I weighed, right down to the last pound, and everyone else must have noticed too, Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade… I must look like an overweight hobbit next to Sherlock.

I sat down and put my head in my hands, I felt panic begin to raise in my chest. _‘What the hell must everyone think of you?’_

I didn't look like a soldier any more, I looked like a middle-aged man who was too adjusted to domestic living. Sherlock wouldn't want me to accompany him on cases any more. I would slow him down, I’d be a liability. I felt my breathing speed up and my heart started to beat faster. I was going to have a panic attack if I didn't calm myself down.

I heard a fist start to bang against my bedroom door.

‘John! We have a case!’ Sherlock announced loudly on the other side of my door. ‘We’re meeting Lastrade at the station in forty-five minuets.’  
I took a deep breath, desperately trying to clam myself. ‘O-Okay’ I stammered. ‘I’ll get ready.’  
After successfully calming myself, I looked back into the mirror. I looked miserable and pale, and fat. I had to do something, change something. And I had to do it fast.

 

***

 

I stopped eating. I figured it couldn't be that bad if Sherlock could do it for days on end, he was still human, after all. It was easy enough to go unnoticed, Sherlock was too busy trying to solve the case and insulting Lestrade and the rest of the police force, Molly barely even knew my name and Lastrade was spending his time convincing Anderson that punching Sherlock was a very bad idea. No one gave me a second look, and I started to wonder why I was even there. I didn't provide them with anything useful. I just trudged around after them all as they ran excitedly around London trying to find the killer. My stomach started to hurt after about 7 hours of actively denying myself food. By the time night came, I was curled up in bed trying to stop the cramps. I was exhausted and fed-up and I couldn't sleep. 

I had never experienced true hunger before. I had learnt about it, seen it even. but I've always had enough to eat, even when I was in Afghanistan. I know what starvation does to the body, I'm a doctor. I've seen staving, sick children with their skin stretched over their bones out when I was serving in Afghanistan. I've seen anorexic teenage girls in hospital beds attached to drips, being force-fed by nurses. But it just seemed different with those people, they were in poverty, or they were sick. I was neither of those things. I was just fat. 

I tossed over in bed and brought my knees up to my chest, trying to ease the pain.

Sherlock wasn't the only one who could go for days on an empty stomach.


	3. The Misunderstanding of human nature.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John collapses, Sherlock tries to understand why John is so upset and make amends. He soon realises that the problem might not go away as easily as he had hoped...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! thank you so so much for all of your support and positive feedback! I'm really pleased you all enjoyed the last two chapters.  
> This chapter is written from Sherlock's point of view again, I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you all like it as much as the last two chapters.  
> Trigger warning for eating disorders.  
> enjoy!xx

Sherlock’s P.O.V

 

I'm not one to panic. I don’t get nervous, I don’t worry about things, It’s unnecessary and a waste of my time.

Right now however, I felt the unfamiliar feeling of panic fluttering in my chest. John was in a heap on the floor, unconscious. Although I had been expecting him to faint, I was shocked none the less, which was ridiculous. John, who always seemed so, so hard-wearing, had just collapsed on the floor. After staring at his body for a few seconds, I leapt into action. He hadn't hit his head on the way down, so there was no need for an ambulance. It would be a waste of time, I knew what was wrong with him. I picked him carefully off the floor and took him to his bedroom. He didn't stir once, and the panic grew. 

I couldn't panic. I don’t panic. It wasn't me. 

I lead him down on his bed, covered him in a throw blanket and went to try and make him something to eat. 

I am not skilled in the kitchen, and it didn't help that our cupboards were bare. I managed to find a tin of tomato soup and a slice of bread that wasn't riddled with mould. It was simple enough to make, I placed the bowl on a tray, trying to make it look as appetizing as possible, and carried it through to John’s bedroom. I hoped he would be awake so the tight feeling in my chest would stop. 

To my great relief, he was awake. He was sitting up with a look of ill-disguised confusion on his face. He also looked in a lot of pain, but that was to be expected. He had barely eaten in three days. 

‘Sherlock, what-’

‘You collapsed. I erm, I made you soup.’ I said awkwardly, holding out the tray.  
‘You mean, you actually cooked something?’ John said, sounding stunned, and slightly amused, a tone I did not appreciate.  
‘Yes, tomato soup. I do have a basic knowledge of catering.’ I answered.  
For a moment, I thought he might accept the soup. He looked quite flattered by my gesture. But then he paused, looked down at his hands and shook his head.  
‘I'm not hungry.’ He muttered, rubbing his forehead and slumping back down into bed.  
‘Don’t lie to me John it doesn't work.’  
‘Fine, I don’t want it.’ John said bluntly.  
‘Another lie John.’ I sighed impatiently. Couldn't he just admit defeat and eat the soup?  
‘Why do you think I want it?’ He demanded.  
‘Because you haven’t eaten in three days John! It’s impossible for you not to be hungry!’  
I couldn't believe I was having this conversation, it was stupid. I know John wasn't on the same wavelength as me when it comes to intelligence, but this was bad even for him.  
‘No Sherlock, that’s not why you think I want it. You think it’s because I'm always hungry.’ John snapped. ‘Well guess what Sherlock Holmes. You’re not the only one who can go without food.’ 

I was silent. I guessed he might be upset about that comment. I had hoped he had forgotten about it. I thought he would have, it didn't seem like something worth worrying about. Mycroft always ignored my comments about his weight. 

But then again, John and Mycroft were so very different. 

‘John, I meant to say earlier, I am sorry for the things I said before the case, I didn't mean to offend you.’  
It had to be okay now. I said I was sorry, I had even made him soup.

‘Whether you meant to offend me or not, you did. I don’t want the soup. Leave me alone.’ John turned over in his bed so he was facing away from me. I didn't understand. Why was he still upset? 

‘But I said I was sorry.’ 

‘Well done Sherlock, you did a decent, human thing. Do you want a gold star?’ John said harshly. His back still facing me. 

I was taken aback to say the least. I wanted to leave, if he was going to be stupid and unreasonable, he could do it on his own. 

But that didn't change the fact he hadn't eaten in three days. 

‘John. You really need to eat the soup. You're a doctor, you know what happens to your body if you deny it food.’  
John let out a groan and turned back to face me.  
‘I don’t want-’  
His stomach rumbled loudly, and he fell silent, his face crumpled up with pain.  
‘Maybe a few spoonfuls.’ He said, he looked defeated.  
I sat down on the end of his bed and carefully handed him the tray which he balanced on his lap. His hand shook as he reached for the spoon, and I couldn't tell if it was from nerves or exhaustion. ‘Do you need any help?’ I offered. He shook his head and lifted the first spoonful of soup to his lips.  
He hesitated. 

‘What is it?’ I asked nervously. He did like tomato soup didn't he? It was still warm, right? It had to be.  
‘Can you- can you not stare at me while I eat?’  
‘Oh, sorry.’ I said, turning my gaze out of the window.  
A few minutes past, I estimated that John had had about 7 spoonfuls of soup and a bite of bread.  
‘I don’t want any more.’ John announced, and I heard him put the spoon back in the bowl.  
‘You haven’t had much.’ I said uncertainly, looking back at him. The bread was untouched, and the soup bowl was over half full.  
‘You can’t be full.’  
‘Well I am. Look, Sherlock I just want to go to sleep.’ John sighed.  
‘Can’t you at least try to eat half of it?’ I asked.  
‘No, I'm going to bed.’

I could see this wasn't going to go anywhere now. He wasn't going to have the rest of the soup, that was obvious. So I had to admit defeat and leave him to sleep. I didn't really know what I should do with the bowl, so I left it on the side in hope that Mrs Hudson would sort it for me. She always does eventually, no matter how many times she informs me that she's my landlady and not my housekeeper. She can’t stand to see the place in a mess. 

I didn't sleep that night. Normally I try and get a few hours of sleep after I close a case, but I had more important things on my mind than sleep. Sleep is boring. Instead, I found my cigarettes that John had hidden in an old mug on the top shelf of one of the kitchen cupboards and I lay awake on the sofa, chain smoking and searching my mind palace for some useful advice about how to handle John's new eating habits.


End file.
